Keepers of the Flame
by warmonger12z
Summary: The world is facing its darkest hour, as the Dark Lord returns to wreak havoc once more.  Join Harry Potter, reluctant hero, as he allies with an ancient and mysterious sect, the Order of the Silver Flame...
1. Prologue

Prologue: July 1995

On a windswept mountain, high in the Himalayan mountain range of Tibet and Nepal, you wouldn't really expect to find anything much other than snow, ice, rock, more snow and maybe a Yeti if you're really unlucky. The very last thing you would expect to find would be a huge, majestic citadel, situated on the eastern face of K2 and constructed seemingly from the rock of the mountain itself.

Well, you wouldn't find it. Not unless you knew how to lift its protections against discovery at any rate and the vast majority of climbers don't know how to do that. The citadel was but one of many scattered throughout the world, all in similarly remote regions, forbidding to all but the most adventurous individuals: the depths of the Amazon Jungle, the heights of the Andes Mountains in South America, the middle of Death Valley in the USA – you get the point.

These great edifices of human ingenuity hold an awe-inspiring secret: they are known as the chapter houses of the Order of the Silver Flame, or at least they are to those aware of the Order's existence. Founded untold ages in the past, in the times when great magic was dominant in the world, the Order was comprised of the descendants of those humans who had dared to reach out inside themselves, to conquer the demons that stalked their dreams and nightmares – and in so doing, proved to the high powers their worth to wield great power, being granted the secrets of the magic of the Prime, the infinite wellspring from which all things arise and to which all things must, without exception, one day return. Mages without peer, sages beyond reproach, the Keepers, as they were known, had been set above the masses as teachers, leaders, and guardians.

The Keepers were the last line of defence against the beings of the Void and the Low Realms – those places that men only visit in the worst of nightmares, and then only for a fleeting moment. These realms are the birthing-place of the negative side of humanity: anger, fear, hatred, oppression, and the festering lairs of those … things that dwell on such emotions and engender demented schemes and power-hungry crazes in the hearts and minds of men. The Low Realms were the perfect antithesis to the High Realms – the heavens, that indefinable place where all thoughts and deeds are born; where the soul of every human being past, present and future is forged.

And it had been nearly fifty years since the worst such threat had manifested on Earth – as a threat to the safety of the High Realms themselves. Yet ironically, as such things often go, this threat had started as a mere human, born to the weaker forms of magic but also a man possessed of an iron will and unshakable determination to make a name for himself. He was also born with monumental hubris and arrogance, convinced that he was the centre of existence and that he alone was fit to rule, to bring his version of order to chaos. This human, of course, is the one called Tom Riddle, more commonly known as Lord Voldemort.

For years, the Order had fought and died in countless battles against the hordes of darkness that this demented mortal unleashed upon the world, but there were a number of Keepers – low-and high-ranking alike – aware of an obscure prophecy made centuries previously that said that 'though he set his nest among the stars, and mount on high as the eagle, the Serpent Lord shall be brought low by the power of a promise.'

On the 31st day of October, 1981, that prophecy was fulfilled by the actions of a young witch from England, when she gave her life in return for her son's. Her pleas for mercy for her son implied a promise to spare him – one which the Serpent Lord, in his arrogance, ignored, and as the prophecy had said, the Serpent Lord was indeed 'brought low by the power of a promise'.

The woman had been Lily Potter, and her son, Harry Potter. Naturally, the Serpent Lord had been Voldemort. He had completely underestimated the power of a mother's sacrifice, and that had made all the difference. The aegis of love that had surrounded Harry had been a truly mighty defence, and one that only the most powerfully evil of beings could have breached.

The metaphysical power of such a sacrifice reflected the deadly curse Voldemort had sent at the one-year-old back at the Dark wizard at almost full power, and had torn an astonished Voldemort's soul from his body, leaving him totally powerless and stranded somewhere between life and death, and breaking the stranglehold of fear and terror on the magical world.

However, in the citadels, enclaves and lodges across the world, the Keepers heard whisperings from the spirit worlds and from the High Realms themselves. A new prophecy had revealed itself through a ten-year-old Keeper from China in drawings and sketches that his parents had claimed he produced while in a 'trance-like state, almost as if possessed'. The drawings were taken to be analysed and translated, and after several months of work, the produced transliterations into written language went something like this:

"_From bone, flesh and blood_

_The Serpent will rise;_

_Bone of the father,_

_Flesh of the servant,_

_Blood of the foe._

_A shadow will fall _

_On the world behind the world;_

_Eyes and ears will be closed to truth._

_Chaos will reign over all_

_And darkness will hold its sway._

_Yet hope shall never die;_

_The old order will pass_

_And the new shall rise,_

_Headed by the one who knows truth._

_They will teach him the path_

_And he will cast the Serpent to the flames_

_Forever."_

In the year 1994, Keepers all over the world had dreams and visions of a deserted graveyard populated only by spirits of the vengeful dead. In the centre of this graveyard stood one grave, seemingly more important than the others, whose earth was broken and the skeleton within scattered and disordered. In the skies overhead, lightning flashed, but no thunder sounded, and a strange red rain fell – human blood. On the gravestone rested a gruesome artefact: a severed human hand. One sound pervaded the horrific scene, and it was a sound that Keepers all over the world knew.

It was a laugh, high and cold. Many Keepers were all too aware of what this meant.

The dark times had returned.

Voldemort was back, just as the prophecy had said, but as this dark revelation was made, some of the most insightful Keepers realised that if this first part of the prophecy had played out thus far … then so must the rest, and thus began the search for the one who 'knows truth' – the one whose power would forever cast the Serpent into darkness.


	2. Ch1: Deliberations

A/N: This is technically AU, all things considered, but most of the canon will be included - with some notable exceptions, but I'm not telling; you'll have to wait and see: D

1 - Deliberations

It still made him shake his head in amazement, even after so long.

Alexander Mitton, Warmaster of the Striking Spear chapter, could never shake his feelings of utter disbelief whenever he came to the Palace of Winds for a Symposium, the annual coming together of all Keepers who held positions of power in the Order (heads of chapter houses, lodges and fortresses, such as he was – he headed the chapter house based at Deepdale Mansion in the south of England, his family's ancestral home and power base of the Striking Spears) at the sheer size of the place – two kilometres wide at its _narrowest_ point.

He was a man whose appearance deceived many. Standing nearly seven feet tall and solidly built thanks to his rigorous adherence to a strict programme of martial arts and exercise on top of good genes, Alex was nevertheless a man whose reputation was built on his personable nature and friendly demeanour. You could spend hours chatting to him about this and that, and never guess (because he'd never mention it) that he was an Eternal: one of the ten percent of Keepers who were directly descended from the original families of Atlantis, and whose connection to the Prime was so powerful that it was able to sustain his body, mind and soul indefinitely.

His great powers, and his rank of 16th-level Warmaster, were treated as convenient afterthoughts. His physical appearance didn't hurt, either: he was possessed of a youthful yet rugged face that belied his true age, rounded off by a jaunty moustache and goatee and an intense, steel-blue stare that could make even the most stubborn being wilt. Now, though, his face was obscured by the earth-toned hood of his cloak that kept the worst of the snow-glare off his skin and out of his eyes.

"You never appreciate it, you know," he said to the shorter robed figure beside him, as they trudged up the path cut through the glacier towards the gates of the Palace.

"What's that?" the voice of his apprentice, Lucie Phillips, replied from under her own hood, also pulled up to protect her face from the glare of the sun off the ice. She was a lot smaller than Alex, standing 5'10" tall, but there was an air of assuredness about her that gave Lucie the appearance of someone much more physically imposing. However, this was offset by her long, sleek copper-red hair, slim and slender figure that turned male heads literally anywhere she went, easy laugh and dancing grey-green eyes. She was also an Eternal, born only forty years previously but already quite powerful: she had already reached the rank of 3rd-level Sentinel (a fairly high rank with a good deal of status in Keeper society attached to it), and considering that there were only five levels at Sentinel rank … well, do the maths.

"The size of the Palace, that's what. I must have come here four hundred times in my life and I still can't get over the size of this place. God knows how the Ancients built it," he replied as they approached the main gate. From nowhere, a wind had just picked up and was already blowing at gale force, swirling loose ice and snow into a lashing blizzard. Both Keepers were quickly covered in a thin coating of ice, making their cloaks look as though they'd just aged fifty years.

"Now you know why they call it the Palace of Winds, Luce," Alex joked as they stumbled into the courtyard.

"And I thought it was because of all the baked beans and Brussels sprouts everybody ate here," the younger Keeper snorted, wiping snow from her eyes. Alex had a good chuckle at that.

The courtyard of the Palace of Winds was roughly symmetrical in shape and arrangement, being subdivided into slices by a network of paths and walkways, 'almost like a celestial pie', as Alex had once suggested. You wouldn't think that the place was in the middle of the Himalayan Mountains, judging by the flora in the courtyard: it looked like the grounds of a European imperial palace, with wide, sweeping lawns and tree-lined avenues, and fountains – always with the fountains.

"Why did the Council call a Symposium now? I mean, there's been no major activity that warrants one – well, among our people at any rate," Lucie asked of her master, once she'd doffed the cloak and entered the Council building proper, walking through the enormous Hall of a Thousand Waters. The architecture of this room was truly breath-taking: each corner of the room had a fountain flowing from the mouth of a carved figure in the wall; these waters flowed around the room's myriad channels and over hundreds of miniature waterfalls, before being projected into the air by the central fountain. The room itself was built on a wellspring of power, a Hallow, which gave the room a constant aura of calm and peace – which suited it as a place for honouring the fallen Keepers.

Alex sighed at that last phrase. It had become a growing trend among some of the old Atlantean families to completely ignore the momentous events that occurred outside the society of the Keepers and deride the other societies as unworthy of the attention of the Council of the Realms, the ruling body of the Silver Flame. He was the most visible – and vocal – of the small but growing number that saw the increasing amount of overlap that was starting to exist among the Keepers, the wizards and ordinary humans, and were of the strident opinion that a far more pro-active stance was needed.

"The Symposium was called because of recent events within the world of the soul-wizards. If it were up to me, the Symposium would have been convened years ago when this whole mess got started," Alex replied, a hint of venom in his voice that Lucie picked up on straight away. "It's Tessa's fault we're even here now." Judging by that tone, Lucie figured she'd best leave off that subject for the moment.

Alex was referring to the High Councillor, Tessa Shaleston, and an Eternal of the Flashing Shield chapter. Lucie knew that Alex had no time for Tessa at the best of times, and at the worst of times … well, let's just say that the High Councillor was lucky to have her head still attached to her shoulders.

Tessa was the leader of the faction that was opposed to taking any sort of action that did not directly benefit the Order, and had blocked every proposal that Alex, as the _de facto_ leader of the opposite faction, had put forward in other Symposia in the past. In most cases, as Alex had more support on the Council than Tessa did, the proposals had passed the standard 2/3 majority vote, but the High Councillor had universal veto rights – which Tessa had exercised more than any other High Councillor in nearly six millennia, a state of affairs that had many influential Keepers concerned.

As far as Alex was concerned, Tessa was a power player, someone more interested in playing petty partisan politics rather than doing things that would actually improve the lot of the Order's majority – those who were not Eternals, those who would one day pass on to the High Realms, albeit after a much longer than normal lifespan. If anything, she reminded Alex of the so-called 'pureblood' wizards who had at best contempt for any other kind of wizard. That did not bode well for their professional relationship – Alex truly despised that kind of wizard.

It was at that point in Alex's ruminations that his attention was distracted by another Keeper who was clad in red and gold robes over his armour, marking him as a Keeper Sentinel – the elite troops who protected this most hallowed of palaces, trained by the Blademasters, the finest warriors in the Order.

"Warmaster Mitton? You are required in the Council Chamber, by request of Councillors Haverthorn and Shaleston," the Sentinel said from behind his full-face helm. Alex sighed again.

"Return to Council and inform the honourable Councillors I am on my way and will be there momentarily," Alex said in reply to the Sentinel, who bowed and disappeared.

After the guard had returned to the Council Chamber, Alex turned to Lucie with a long-suffering expression on his face.

"Ah, well – time for the theatrics to begin," Alex said resignedly.

The Council Chamber was enormous, carved from the very rock of the mountain and set such that the base of the chamber was three hundred feet underground. Enormous beams of the finest English oak curved up the smooth stone walls in wide, majestic arcs to the domed roof, at whose centre was a window of glass stained gold, surrounded by images of the great Keepers of the past and the present.

Under the dome was a raised dais, carved from black marble and inlaid with gold and precious stones. The dais held three chairs of the finest ebony, one for the High Councillor and the others for the aides of the High Councillor.

Around the outside of the room, like the spokes of a giant wheel, was the gallery for the Council of the Realms, the representative body for every fortress, lodge and chapter house in the Order. This gallery was currently occupied by Keepers of myriad ranks and positions in the Order, but they all had one thing in common: they were the leaders of their fortresses and outposts.

However, the most important men and women in the room were those sitting in the chairs that ran along the perimeter of the room, underneath the gallery. These were the Councillors of the Order of the Silver Flame. Right now, they were seemingly more like a disorderly rabble than the oldest and wisest ruling body on the planet.

_It's shameful_ Alex said telepathically to Lucie as they walked towards the doors that barred entry to the Council Chamber.

_What is?_ the younger Keeper replied in the same way – that was one of the advantages of the master-apprentice bond.

_That,_ he thought back, sending her a telepathic image of the mad rabble of arguing Councillors beyond the great doors. _They're supposed to be our leaders. Notice how the ones doing most of the shouting are Tessa's allies. That means someone's put forward one of my motions, and they're trying to discredit me through my friends._

_Do we go in full force?_Lucie asked.

_No – we need to make Tessa look stupid; her kind hate being humiliated in front of their fellow politicos,_Alex said, with the tone of a man who would be stroking his beard if he had been speaking aloud._Just look at the pureblood soul-wizards._

_Good point,_ Lucie mused._So, we need to get approval to help this Order of the Phoenix, and discredit Tessa at the same time. Any ideas?_

_Several,_ Alex replied with a ghost of a psychic grin.

_Will I like?_ Lucie asked in a little-girl voice.

_I think so, babe,_ Alex answered with a telepathic chuckle. _Here we go._

Alex waved to the Sentinel, who pushed the massive oak doors open, allowing the two Keepers access to the Council Chamber.

It was just as well that no-one really paid much attention to the doors being opened, Alex mused as he strode into the hall. That made his appearance all the more dramatic.

"I trust you have something to back up your accusations, Councillor – after all, I am in earshot now," Alex said in a mild tone as he entered the hall. His own hearing had picked up the reason for the outburst of the council: apparently, Tessa had put forward an accusation in response to a motion from one of Alex's supporters that he was plotting to overthrow the Council of the Realms. The rabble was silenced by the tone in his voice: although there was no anger in there, there was a steel edge to every word that promised pain to anyone who crossed him.

A whisper raced through the gallery as Alex strode across the floor with Lucie at his side, towards Tessa and the target of her vitriol: Councillor Richard Haverthorn, Councillor of the Striking Spear chapter and one of Alex's closest allies, who bowed respectfully to Alex as he approached, and returned to his seat at the edge of the room.

There were few in the gallery or the Council who didn't hold Alex in the highest respect and regard, or at least fearful respect in the case of his foes, as the older Keeper was the picture of power and authority: his long midnight-black cloak fell over his shoulders like waves of liquid shadow and the armour on his body did little to disguise the sense of leashed power flowing from him. His eyes scanned around the room, settling on those whom he could trust for their support and favouring them with a slight reduction in that focused, piercing gaze. There were few in the entire Order who weren't in awe of Alex and his powers – he had had only a few hundred years to work at them, and he had already surpassed many older Keepers in terms of both his Gnosis and arcane knowledge.

Tessa swallowed audibly at the sight of the regal, powerful Keeper walking towards her with his apprentice. Ever since their first meeting nearly three hundred years previously, when Alex had still been a young apprentice and she was already a Warmaster, the seeds of a mutual dislike had been sown. Alex had sensed the truth about Tessa from the get-go – that she was manipulative, disloyal and unscrupulous – and that her rank's obligations were secondary to her overwhelming desire for power. Conversely, Tessa had seen in the apprentice a man who would one day become a true enemy, who garnered support for his cause through force of personality and his honourable nature alone, without having to use underhand methods. She could see that he was a natural leader, and far more powerful than she would ever be: he enjoyed a massive majority support on the council for one thing.

It was more than a matter of politics that caused Tessa to oppose Alex at every turn, it was a matter of principle. Tessa believed that the Keepers were the foremost society on the Earth, and if the rest of humanity went to hell, so what? They obviously weren't worthy enough to be given the power of the Prime, and barely warranted the title human. Exhaust the resources of the Keepers to protect a bunch of unworthy, ignorant, useless vermin? "Oh, please," as she might say, "we're not babysitters."

For Alex, that attitude infuriated him beyond words, but he was careful never to let that anger be his sole driving force. That led, according to his teachers among the Order, to what had been anecdotally called the 'dark side' (for obvious reasons) by the younger generations of Keepers – the state of mind that condemned the soul of a Keeper to the depths of the Abyss, also called the Harrowing. In his time, Alex had faced off against Keepers who had fallen to darkness, and they had possessed truly frightening powers – powers that any sane Keeper would never so much as consider using.

Now, though, Alex was doing his usual cursory scan of the surface thoughts and emotional states of the assembled Council. As he expected, the scan turned up the usual results, showing him who supported him and who didn't; who thought him misguided and potentially dangerous and those who thought him to be the next High Councillor (that mindset irritated him no end), and other such miscellaneous readings, most of which are not important to this tale.

However, when Alex turned his mental powers on Tessa, calling on the infinite power of the cosmos to grant him a glimpse of her mind, there was a flicker of something at the core of her thoughts – something dark, cold, alien – unmistakably _evil._ The flicker passed after a moment, almost as if it sensed Alex's presence in Tessa's mind and had raised a hasty shield. The damage was done, however: Alex was already on full alert.

_Luce, we've got trouble,_ Alex nearly shouted over their private link.

_What's going on, man?_Lucie replied, alarmed at the psychic volume.

_It's Tessa – something's not right about her mind scan; I sensed something just now. We have to watch our step now more than ever,_he replied.

_Got it, old man,_ Lucie replied. It must have been something really out of the ordinary to put _that_ tone into Alex's mind-voice.

"I take it we all know why we are here," Alex said, his voice not raised above its normal level but otherwise somehow audible all over the room. "Either the honourable Councillor Shaleston has _finally_ acknowledged the threat we face – or she has called for an election, thinking that I will be daft enough to run for the position of High Councillor."

It was meant as an innocuous comment to highlight his total disinterest in political office, but all the same, Tessa clenched her fists at her sides, a flush of colour heating her face, but she managed to keep her cool. Several of the councillors and assembled senior Keepers sniggered behind their hands at that – Alex had a way of hitting Tessa with even the most innocuous comments.

"From the silence of our esteemed leader, I take it the first situation is the one we face," Alex continued dryly. "It shouldn't be too much of a leap of intuition to consider the potential disaster we are facing here. This Dark wizard we face is perhaps the gravest threat to our own existence for millennia – and what do we choose to do about it? NOTHING!"

The last word in the sentence reverberated around the room for twenty seconds, such was the power poured into that single exclamation. Even Tessa, who was used to Alex's strident nature on the council floor, recoiled at the sound of his shout. Alex swept his cloak back and raked his gaze across the assembled dignitaries as he continued.

"You who lead us seem content to let our ancient and powerful civilisation fall to ruin at the hands of some Abyss-born monster! Worse still, you refuse to aid those who have been our brethren in the Mysteries for time immemorial, since before the Fall of Atlantis! And why? Why? Tell me!"

The assembled Councillors and senior Keepers looked at each other, all trying to pass the onus of explanation onto another. Only those who shared Alex's view were isolated from this round of buck-passing – Alex had made that obvious from his expression as he glared round the room.

"I'll tell you why – because Councillor Shaleston doesn't think that coming to the aid of those we are sworn to protect is a worthy use of our time and power. She's more interested in playing little political games of one-upmanship and kowtowing to the bluebloods than she is of executing the duties of a Warmaster and our High Councillor!" Alex roared. "Now we suffer the consequences of ineffectual leadership and complacency – our worlds are on the brink of collapse!"

Alex turned his gaze completely on Tessa, who had pasted an expression of supreme disdain on her face, but one that failed utterly to hide the fear she felt at facing down the powerful Warmaster's gaze. That gaze held contempt above all else, but there was also a degree of sheer frustration in there at the tactics of Tessa and her cronies.

_At least I can get under his skin somehow,_ Tessa thought happily.

"And the less I say about _you_ the better," Alex grated, fire blazing in his eyes – Lucie had come to fear that harsh, grating tone; every time it arrived in Alex's voice, someone in the vicinity was going to bleed. "How many times have you destroyed my plans and programmes in this room – and all because one of your little blueblood friends doesn't think it's appropriate for our youth to be learning about the other peoples that share our world? Or because you just want to hand me a little defeat? You're pathetic, Shaleston – you couldn't run a village fete, let alone our Order!" That view was held by more than a few on the Council – the chief duty of a Keeper was to act as teacher, sage and guardian – but no-one had ever had the guts to say it out loud. Until now.

That did it – the simmering anger that Tessa felt towards Alex blazed into full-blown rage, and she leapt from the dais, using a brief rote to enhance her strength, propelling her leap twenty feet across the floor, to land three feet from Alex, who didn't so much as flinch.

"_How dare you!_" she screeched. "How dare you talk to _me _in that fashion? I am your High Councillor and you _will_ pay me the respect I deserve!" Her outburst was extremely ill-mannered and disrespectful, especially in Symposium – many of the assembled Councillors were murmuring among themselves at her sheer disregard for the ancient customs; nothing, but nothing, was ever considered sufficient grounds for a display like this in the Palace. Alex had not raised his voice: he simply allowed his powers to amplify the sound, so it carried to all ears in the chamber.

"Respect is earned, Shaleston – _not demanded! _ If you were a true Warmaster, then you would be aware of this!" Alex said in response – he was not acting as though he was the be-all and end-all of the Symposium, which gave him the home ground advantage. "Because your daddy happens to be some nobleman, you think I should worship the ground you walk on? Dream on, bitch," he added with a sneer as he turned away from Tessa, deliberately turning his back on her in a calculated snub.

_That ought to do it,_ Alex sent to Lucie with a definite air of satisfaction. He did _so _love doing this.

_Too right,_ Lucie replied, laughing telepathically. _Look at her! She's going to explode!_

She was right. At that moment, Tessa wasn't concerned that she was in Symposium, that every other high-ranking Keeper was watching her avidly. All she cared about was that Mitton was being purposely disrespectful to her, and that fuelled her rage and embarrassment at being so efficiently and thoroughly upstaged. Well, she'd soon show this impudent foot soldier how to treat his betters.

"Alex, LOOK OUT!" Councillor Katherine Baynes of the Stunning Fist chapter screamed at him. Tessa was running at him, her sword drawn, its blazing red blade of magical light casting stark shadows on the walls of the Council chamber. From the frenzied look on her face, Tessa was intent on slashing Alex to ribbons.

Alex, however, was more than ready, although he appreciated Katherine's concern for his safety. A moment's thought drew a strand of power from the universe, which Alex then directed out his right hand as a powerful telekinetic force bolt as he spun on a dime to face the enraged High Councillor. The blast of nigh-transparent energy rippled out of his hand with a bass _boom_, and corkscrewed towards Tessa unerringly, who tried desperately to block it with the blade of her sword, and failed.

The blast of force picked Tessa bodily off the floor and hurled her backwards thirty feet to smash painfully into the wall of the chamber, the impact driving the breath from her lungs in one audible _whoosh_. She slid to the floor, stunned by the impact as Alex stalked over to her. He summoned her sword to his hand as he came over, crossing it with his own – a four-foot long sword made of the finest steel, imbued with mighty powers, which now snarled around the blade, casting a cold blue glow in the chamber.

"Only one who is not in control would attempt to kill another Keeper on this hallowed ground," Alex hissed. He held the blades in a scissor-like manner, making it seem as though he was going to kill her there and then, before lowering his own sword and allowing the blade's magics to dissipate, and hurling Tessa's, blade first, into the floor at her feet – a sign of great dishonour. "Your dishonour is complete – at your own hand."

Tessa didn't respond; instead, she merely picked herself off the floor, straightened her robes, retrieved her sword and strode towards the door, shooting Alex a hateful glare as she passed, which he returned with interest. The doors boomed open as Tessa directed a pulse of her own telekinesis at them, which also hurled two Sentinels to the ground. With that, she was gone.

"Now that we have the chance for some rational and potentially sane discussion, perhaps I might be allowed to state my case a little more thoroughly," Alex continued as though nothing had happened, though a slight straightening of his cloak was required.

Councillors Haverthorn and Baynes shared a look that spoke volumes about their respect for Alex and their gratitude towards him for finally doing what no-one else would have had the sheer _chutzpah_ to do, before Richard addressed Alex.

"Warmaster Alexander Mitton, this chair recognises your authority on the floor," he said in a broad Scottish Highlands brogue.

"Thank you, Councillor. As we are no doubt all aware by now, roughly three months ago, the Dark Lord known as Voldemort managed to effect a return to corporeal form from his previous state of intangibility. This process has also somehow boosted his raw magical power considerably, which poses a serious problem for those who oppose both him and his followers. It stands to reason, therefore, that Voldemort has a considerable advantage over his opponents.

"To that end, four days ago, I established a dialogue with the main resistance group, an organisation called the Order of the Phoenix headed by a wizard named Albus Dumbledore."

As Alex paused after Dumbledore's name, a wave of mutters passed around the chamber – it was obvious that Dumbledore's name and reputation were not just limited to his world. Unfortunately, neither was the contempt that some held for the venerable wizard.

"He agrees with my appraisal of the situation – that we face a potentially cataclysmic crisis that, if left unchecked, could result in a disaster on a par with the Fall of Atlantis itself," Alex continued after a brief clearing of the throat to shut everyone up. "Together, we have come up with a draft proposal."

"What do you propose we do, Warmaster?" Councillor Tong Jie Shen of the Invisible Hand chapter inquired.

"I propose an immediate increase in our readiness for conflict with the followers of the Dark Lord, as well as a special preparation to be carried out by myself and Lucie," Alex said in response.

"Agreed," the Council seemed to say in unison. That got Alex's attention – there was an archaic bit of regulation concerning voting in a Symposium which said that if the sitting Councillors either passed or rejected a motion by simultaneous verbal decree, then even the High Councillor's veto was useless. Tessa had tried to change that law a dozen times, but no-one would ever support it – even among her own sycophants.

"What of this special preparation, Alex?" Katherine Baynes said to Alex. As a 10th-level Warmaster of the Stunning Fist chapter, the raven-haired Australian woman was a deceptively harmless-looking individual – until she started using her chapter's devastatingly lethal unarmed combat methods. Then she was as dangerous as any Weaponmaster – as Alex had once discovered during a practice duel, when she had disarmed and floored him with a single flurry of blows. He got his own back later, though, but that is a story for another time.

"In the prophecy of Voldemort's return, there was one mentioned who alone possessed the power to destroy Voldemort for all time, beyond any hope of restoration," Alex continued. "Through investigations of this individual's family lines, I have determined that on the father's side, approximately twenty-two generations before the rise of Karsus the Wise, there was significant intermarriage between this family and the line of Warmaster Lucius Antinius Castus of Rome. As we all know, this Warmaster was one of our most powerful for his time. I sincerely believe that this power line still runs true."

"So you seek to train him in the ways of the Supernal?" Baynes asked in response.

Alex's response was a simple, "Yes."

"Is he Awakened? Does he have awareness of the Higher World?" Councillor Suzanne Baines of the Swift Blade chapter asked.

"Unknown. However, he does seem to have a susceptibility to lucid dreaming – in that his dreams often reflect the conflicted nature of his own Oneiros. These dreams significantly affect his physical well-being, according to the accounts of Albus Dumbledore," Alex replied to the obviously loaded question. "I believe there is something that ties his soul to this world – resolving that situation should allow the process to take its course from there."

"Very well," Richard said in closing. "You have our authorisation to go and make contact with the Order of the Phoenix further. It doesn't need to be said that this is vitally important to not only our continuation, but that of the rest of this planet, Alex."

"I'm painfully aware of that, sir," Alex replied, his tone sombre. "Rest assured, I will find the bearer of the power line, and I will ensure that he is trained in the use of his true power."

"Then let the power of the Oracles guide and protect you," Richard pronounced, signalling to the Sentinels to open the doors to the Council Chamber.

Alex bowed to his superiors and started towards the door, with Lucie in tow. Most of the assembled Keepers saluted the Warmaster as he exited the room. Once the Sentinels had swung the great doors closed again, Alex collapsed onto one of the benches in the atrium. His entire posture was drained and limp.

"Whoo, that was interesting," he said from his reclined position, eyes closed and arms dangling limply off the sides of the bench. "I don't recall ever crossing swords with anyone in Council before."

"Oh come on, you loved it, didn't you?" Lucie said in reply, a shrewd glint in her eye. "You never miss an opportunity to bring Shaleston down, do you?"

"True," Alex admitted. He shot a proud and admiring look at his apprentice – Alex made little secret of the fact that he considered Lucie to be his best trainee ever, bar none. "Ah, well, no rest for the wicked," he continued, picking himself off the bench. "Come on, babe – we've got some work to do. Next stop – Deepdale Mansion."

The good thing about travel via Prime methods (teleportation, portal gates, translocator artefacts, that sort of thing) was that it didn't take you half as long to get somewhere as it did using either mundane or other magical methods.

Leaving the Palace of Winds at 10:30 am GMT, this meant that it only took Alex and Lucie a couple of hours to get back to England, meaning that by mid-day their 4x4 was cruising down the quiet Surrey country road towards his family's ancestral home, Deepdale Mansion, which also doubled as the major fortress for the Striking Spear chapter in Europe. This meant that, any one time, there could be anything from three to four hundred Keepers resident on the three-hundred-acre estate at any one time. It seemed impossible that this could be so, but such things were the furthest from Alex's mind as he guided the Range Rover along the road towards the access road to the estate.

"Well, now that this little escapade of yours is well-established, Alex, maybe you could tell me what happened in that Council Chamber with your mind-scan," Lucie said to the older Keeper as the turn-off to the Mitton estate came into sight.

"I'm not too sure what it was myself, babe," Alex replied as he turned onto the small side road, stopping at a set of enormous wrought-iron gates set into a forbidding-looking red-brick wall nearly ten feet high. "It felt like everything I've ever been taught that evil comes back as on a mind-scan, was in one place."

"How so?" Lucie asked, as Alex punched a sequence of numbers on a keypad built into the Range's dashboard, sending a signal to the control computers of the gates that he was authorised to be there.

"It was a sensation of cold, darkness, oppression, hatred, anger and fear all rolled into one – and believe me, it ain't pleasant to sense that, I can tell you," Alex said with a shudder as the gates swung open without so much as a squeak, and he took the Range onto the approach road. On both sides of the road were wide stretches of open grassland and the occasional copse of oak and yew trees. Scattered among the patchwork green and brown of the forests and fields were smaller outbuildings and cottages, once used by the staff of the estate, and now used as secondary accommodation if ever the main house became full. At the end of the approach road, surrounded by a large driveway, was the main mansion house itself, a sprawling four-storey, three-wing manor house built in Cotswold stone.

"So what now?" Lucie asked as Alex pulled up outside the front of the house and allowed her to get out of the Range.

"We'll need to do a little detective work – give me an hour or so," Alex replied. "I'll come back and meet you in the main atrium. There's a few things I've got to take care of first."

"OK, chief. See you later," Lucie replied, before heading off into the house proper, and Alex took the Range back out onto the road, heading for the concealed turnoff that led to the motorpool entrance.

A week and a half after the Symposium, Alex was slumped in a chair in the main living room of Deepdale Mansion (his chantry's cover and ancestral home of his family), back in the Surrey countryside at half past six in the morning in a flannel shirt and pants, nursing a large mug of _very_ strong coffee. He had been rudely awakened by a very odd dream – he couldn't remember it precisely, but there were flashes in his mind of rolling, desolate savannahs, thick forests of brush and scrub, voices from beings beyond his sightline and another voice, resonating with ancient power:

"_Whom is my heir?"_

God help him, but Alex was certain he had read that somewhere before, but he just couldn't think where. He resolved that another good cup of coffee would help to clear his head.

He got up, yawned, rotated his head through ninety degrees to the left and right, ignoring the revolting series of cracks and left the drawing room, traipsing through the hallways of the mansion to the large, modern kitchen.

He had just poured out a fresh cup of coffee (his third of the day, and the sun had been up for only two hours) when a gentle breeze that smelled of soap blew through the room, announcing Lucie's arrival to get her breakfast. She was wearing a dressing gown, slippers and a towel round her wringing wet hair.

"You're up early, Alex. Couldn't sleep?" she asked as she slotted three crumpets onto the grill, stating the obvious in the way only she could pull off without being condescending.

"No – another of those damned dreams," Alex replied. "It's as if this entity, whatever or whoever it is, wants me to help it to do or find something. It's something like a recruiting call for the Army, if you'll believe it."

Lucie pulled up a chair to the table and laid her hand on Alex's arm. "Big man, relax. You'll go mad if you think about this too much. Give it some time to sink in. Put the telly on, disconnect from reality."

"What? And become like you? Perish the thought!" he replied in mock horror, a hand over his heart and a wide grin on his face.

Lucie pulled the towel from her hair with a dangerous grin, sending her long, curly copper-red tresses flying, and flicked the end at Alex, who had jumped out of the way with a chuckle and dived into the living room. He avoided the first flick of the towel, aimed at his rump, but the second struck true. It raked across his arm in a stinging motion, leaving a red welt. Alex took one look at it, then gave Lucie a look that was full of friendly challenge.

"Ooh, that does it, you little minx!" Alex laughed. With that, he dropped into a crouch and pounced on Lucie, knocking her to the floor, and tickling her remorselessly. Peals of giggling laughter rang through the whole house as they rolled about the living room floor like a pair of kids, Lucie fighting vainly to dislodge Alex's fingers from her ribs.

"You cannot escape me," Alex said in a fake-evil growl. "You are mine now, my pretty young thing!"

"Stop it! Stop it!" she squealed between giggles. "Alex, I – I can't breathe!"

He relented then, and rolled backwards into a standing position, allowing a very dishevelled Lucie to get back to her feet, still giggling softly, only for a quiet cough from the doorway to get their attention. A single Keeper stood in the doorway, in biker leathers and with long, straggly brown hair, and a half-smile on his face.

"Am I interrupting something?" Charlie Knott asked, his eyebrows in danger of disappearing beneath his hippie-style hairdo. "Maybe I'll leave you two lovebirds alone …"

"Stop right there, Hipster," Lucie said, a dangerous gleam in her eye. Charlie knew better than to piss Lucie off.

"What do you have for me, Chuck?" Alex asked, straightening his shirt.

"Your contacts paid off, old man – we've got a good list of times and events that fit the criteria, but the list's quite extensive: about three and a half thousand."

"Jesus H. Christ," Lucie exclaimed, not realising that during her tickle fight with Alex, her dressing gown had fallen open almost to her waist, revealing her breasts to all and sundry, and not even noticing Charlie's almost vacant stare.

Alex had noticed though, and, fighting the urge to stare blankly, he tapped her on the shoulder and motioned downwards. Blushing crimson, Lucie quickly closed her gown properly.

"Put your eyes back in, Charlie," she said crossly. "Show's over – that's about as close as you'll get."

"OK, Charlie – thanks. We'll do the rest," Alex said with a sigh; this was going to be a long day.

In the drawing room, Alex and Lucie were poring over the lists that Charlie had procured, together with Jazz, one of the Masters at the chantry. His expertise in scrying and location magic would be invaluable in tracking down their mark, who had thus far proven highly adept at keeping off the Keepers' radar.

"What are we looking for, Alex?" he said in his soft Northern accent.

"I don't know – a connection of some sort. We know who this prophesied one is, but we really need to know more about him in more general terms," Alex replied, running a biro down the list of dates and events. "Like … how the hell he got himself into this mess to begin with."

"That really narrows it down – even the Sages aren't sure what happened that night," Lucie said, the uncertainty evident in her voice.

"True, but we do have the ability to follow destiny lines, the lines of time and fate to specific focal points," Jazz clarified. "That should give us more of an insight into how this whole can of worms was opened."

"Hmm – now that sounds like a good idea. Jazz, go through that list – knock off anything that doesn't fit with what we know from either the first visions or from Tomin's books," Alex ordered, referring to the ancient Keeper whose gift of Sight had been legendarily powerful.

Jazz picked up a small golden divining rod, and passed it over the paper several times, muttering under his breath as he did. With each pass, more lines disappeared, until about three dozen were left.

"Right – now we're cooking with gas. These all have some direct metaphysical link with Voldemort?" Alex said.

"Yep – in some way or another. It's about a half-half split for good and evil," Jazz replied, pre-empting Lucie's next question.

Alex ran his eyes down the much smaller list several times, until on the third scan, a name suddenly seemed to leap out at him. _This is the one you seek,_ a voice seemed to whisper. _Seek and ye shall find …_

"Guys, I think we've got something here," Alex said, indicating the name on the list.

"Good call, Alex," Lucie said on reading the name, and the two names that were cross-referenced with it. "It fits the prophecies, at any rate." It still amazed her that Tomin had been able to foresee events that were to occur over twenty thousand years in the future.

"You gonna check it out?" Jazz said.

"Right now," Alex said, and closed his eyes in concentration, summoning his mental power. Instantly he felt his mind lifting out of his body, and his perception changing, as the myriad lines of fate and time swirled around him, each marking the path through the cosmos of everything in existence, either alive or otherwise. The line of one stood out more than the others, and Alex's powerful mental magics locked onto it, following it through the many twists and turns of Entropy.

Then – he saw it. The one thing that made Alex certain of his hunch. Another line, that pulsed with sickly green light, intersected two other powerfully bonded lines and ended them abruptly before intersecting it – but did not continue. Instead, the original line carried on, albeit with a different sense to it, before joining with two others, bright and powerful, and stretching out into the future … where two lines that flickered gold and silver crossed it,.

With a thought, Alex withdrew his mind from the threads of the Prime, and reinserted himself into his body.

"Well?" Jazz asked.

"It's good – we've got it. Lucie, let's suit up. Jazz – good work, well done." Alex, Lucie and Jazz got up and left the drawing room behind them.

Richard Kahn, Deepdale's quartermaster, was already hard at work in the armoury next door to the motor pool. He was a definite night owl, even for a Keeper. However, he knew his stuff when it came to guns and other implements of death, and that meant he was very handy to have around.

This morning, he was tinkering with the gas mechanism on a SG 540 assault rifle, when the lift across the hall pinged, and Alex and Lucie stepped out. Both were dressed in black Nomex one-piece fitted jumpsuits (for fitted, read _skin-tight_). Lucie had already turned a dozen male heads in the fortress and half a dozen female: the fabric clung to her every curve like shadow, accentuating her gorgeous figure. Over the fireproof fabric were hinged armour plates fitted over their arms and legs made of laminated Kevlar-polycarbonate, with a cuirass that was made of laminated Kevlar-tungsten-cobalt armour, capable of withstanding a 7.62mm x 51 NATO armour-piercing round from any distance. Couple that with Alex's reinforcements to the armour together with the plate of thaumium that was laminated under the fabric covering of the cuirass, and it becomes a very tough nut to crack.

Alex was wearing a floor-length leather greatcoat over the top of his armour, and Lucie was wearing a shorter, waist-length jacket fashioned in a corset-like style. On her belt were two scabbards, each holding a Japanese _wakizashi_ short sword: her preferred close combat weapon.

"… Voldemort gets his shit together and starts his little campaign," Alex was saying.

"I take it we move fast, then," Lucie said.

"Good work stating the obvious, honey," Alex replied dryly. "Morning, Kahn," he added to the German Keeper by way of greeting.

"Right back atcha, Alex," Kahn replied in a thinly disguised Berlin accent. "OK, vhat can I do for you zis morning?"

"We need kitting up, Kahn," Lucie replied. "This is a biggie." It hadn't escaped Lucie's notice that Kahn was also staring at her torso region – with good reason: she was 'amply endowed', as Alex had once so delicately put it (he had put it slightly less delicately eighteen months previously while under the influence of three barrels' worth of best bitter ["Lucie's tits, eh? Bloody fantas'ic!" which had earned him six weeks of silent treatment and frosty glares which no amount of grovelling apology would stop), and the fact that the Nomex was fitted showed off a lot more than she would ordinarily have liked; the jacket didn't help matters much, either.

"O-OK," he stammered, recovering his poise nicely. "The usual?"

"Not this time, old man. We need the specials," Alex said. At that, Kahn winced.

"Vhy do you always do zis?" he grumbled. "You're supposed to be the mysterious leader-elder guy who never shows his face in public – everyone else does zat. But nooo, you hog all the glory, and go off on missions vith all the gorgeous girls from the fortress. Give the rest of us a chance, will ya?"

Alex couldn't resist a grin: he was used to Kahn's constant griping about being QM while all the other Keepers at Deepdale did the dirty work.

"Just open up, will you, you moaning old sod?"

"OK, OK – in you come," Kahn relented, and with a series of clunks, clicks and _chungs_, the door to the armoury swung open, revealing gun heaven: row upon row of pistols, revolvers, sub-machine guns, assault rifles, shotguns, machine guns, sniper rifles and explosives. Alex strolled up the pistol section, examined what was on offer and was about to pull a pair of SIG-Sauer P229 9mm pistols from the racks when Kahn stopped him, and handed Alex two very large matt black pistols – IMI Desert Eagles, but with some cosmetic changes – now the barrels had underslung sections that connected to the trigger guard, housing the gas cylinder system.

"Here – take these," he said. "I finished the upgrades on the Desert Eagles – now those mags are ten times as roomy vith no extra mass, almost zero recoil and selective low-rate autofire, about seventy rounds / minute. I also put some protection rotes on them; they can no longer be vanished or otherwise tampered vith. Those vards should increase the accuracy of the guns."

"Ammo?" Alex inquired as he hefted the gun, testing the admittedly good balance even with a full magazine loaded.

"Standard – .50-cal BMG hollowpoint. The ammo's been upgraded, too – magically charged to affect magical shields and constructs, even spirits. It's also been made irrelevant to Kevlar or other such materials – essentially it's armour-piercing; should make engaging armoured foes simple."

"Very nice, Kahn – I like it a lot," Alex approved as he slid the guns into the two holsters secured to his upper legs. He then wandered over to the assault rifle section, where he contemplated for a minute, before selecting his personal gun – a Heckler und Koch G36 5.56mm heavy assault rifle, with under-barrel 30mm grenade launcher; adapted magazines, charmed ammunition and optical sight on the handle. Behind him, Lucie had pulled a pair of Glock 20 10mm autoloaders from the racks and slid them into her shoulder holsters, before going over to the shotgun racks and selecting her personal SPAS-12, specially customised for her with longer stock and rotary-feed magazine. For good measure, she also took a H & K MP5A4 sub-machine gun chambered in .40 Smith & Wesson.

"What are you taking that thing for?" Lucie asked incredulously as she loaded up her ammo pouches.

"Never know when some heavy firepower might come in useful," Alex replied as he loaded his own ammo belts.

Alex slung his gun over his left shoulder, before going over to the back wall of the armoury, to a section that was slightly recessed – for slightly, read about half a micron. If you didn't know it was there, you could search for a millennium and never find it. Alex pressed his palm up to a certain brick on the wall and waited while the palmprint scanner concealed in the brick read the lines and whorls on his hand, and the chaoscopic scanner mounted in the bust of Alexander the Great above his head confirmed his identity through looking at his aura.

A click and a _ping_ announced the end of the scanning cycle, and a whole section of the wall, four feet across and seven high, swung backwards into the armoury, revealing a room clothed in darkness. Alex entered this room reverently, and walked over to a mosaic on the farthest wall. The mosaic depicted a scene from the Book of the Ages: the first travellers landing on the isle of dragons, soon to be called Atlantis, and another scene from the First Book of Destiny: the sundering of the Ladder of the Heavens and the Fall of Atlantis. On a hook on the wall, a sword was hung from its scabbard, its hilt decorated with gold and gems, glittering in the weak light. Its blade flared out at the hilt, before smoothly tapering to a point. Even at a distance, the sword gave off a distinct aura of power and age.

This sword had belonged to a man Alex had once called friend, before he had been corrupted by the self-styled Inquisitors and sent after Alex on several occasions. The final time, he had cornered Alex within a burning warehouse in London about twenty years previously. The two had fought viciously, but Alex's skill and experience in combat had proven fatally decisive, and it only took a few brief moments for Alex to mortally wound the hunter. The shock of impending death had shook the man to awareness, and with his last breath, had asked Alex to promise that the sword never be used for evil; that Alex take it and wield it in the name of justice and good.

Alex had agreed, and, upon fleeing the warehouse and returning to Deepdale, he and the other mages in his cabal had performed a great ritual upon the blade to grant it great powers: specifically, it was capable of drawing down its own store of power and storing it for later use.

It came as no surprise to any of the Keepers at Deepdale that the sword was called the Sword of the Stars – the most powerful magical artefact in existence; capable of projecting blasts of Prime energy like lightning bolts, and boosting the powers of any mage who wielded it beyond their wildest dreams. It also granted great powers of vitality and resistance to anyone who held it in battle, as well as being virtually unbreakable and lethally sharp.

Alex took the sword down from the wall, and pulled the blade from its sheath. The surface of the blade shimmered a pale gold in the light from the doorway, revealing the nature of the blade: forged from the alchemical alloy thaumium, it had unparalleled powers to resist and reflect magic. Satisfied that the blade was free of scratches and rust, Alex slid the blade back into the scabbard and slung the harness over his shoulders like the straps of a rucksack, and tightened them, locking the sword in place so that the hilt protruded from a slit in the back of his greatcoat. With the sword safely in place, Alex spun on a dime and strode out, with Lucie following him as he left the grotto, the door swinging back into place as he left. Alex was fully kitted up for battle, and left the armoury, heading off for the motorpool.

"Hey, Mitton!" Kahn called. "Leave some bad guys for the rest of us,_verstehen?_"

"You got it, Kahn," Alex replied with a grin as he went into the reception area, complete with loungers, satellite TV and vending machines. This was where the coteries going off on missions would check in and out, and those waiting for pickups would remain, lounging and eating themselves stupid. Alex and Lucie went over to the lockers that held the keys to all the vehicles in the motorpool, and Lucie pulled out the keys to a Range Rover 4 x 4 automatic, their usual chariot.

"You're driving us this time, Alex," Lucie said to her partner as they crossed the garage, the sound of screeching tyres and roaring engines already loud even at this time of day. "Whenever I drive, things always go wrong."

"You got it, pardner," Alex drawled as he stashed his assault rifle and his sword in the boot, before he returned to the front of the Range and hopped in. Lucie climbed in beside him in the front passenger seat, and clipped her belt on while Alex booted up the car's trip computer and GPS navigation system, and started the engine.

"Hey, Alex," Lucie said.

"Yeah?" he replied, turning to face her. His reply wasn't quite what he expected, as Lucie leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. He simply sat there for a moment, stunned.

"For luck," she said simply. "We need to get this right first time."

"Amen to that, sister," Alex said, putting the car's automatic gearbox in 'Drive' and leaving the garage. The dawn light was only just lighting up the farmlands that surrounded Deepdale for twenty miles in every direction.

"And I might never have got a chance to do that in the future," she said. "If Armageddon comes, and all that, y'know."

"Cheeky little – you owe me, honey. Big time," Alex replied with a grin as the 4 x 4 left the garage ramp and turned onto the main road.

The race was on.


End file.
